


if i'm breaking walls down

by piggy09



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F, Summer Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-25 18:56:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14983445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/pseuds/piggy09
Summary: When Rachel Duncan opens the door to her parents’ mansion, Sarah says: “Hey. Can I use your pool?”“Excuse me,” Rachel says.“It’s fifty bloody degrees,” Sarah says. “I know you’ve got a pool. Can I use it.”“No,” Rachel says, and closes the door in Sarah’s face.So Sarah goes around back and scales the fence.





	if i'm breaking walls down

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked: Propunk + summer vacation

When Rachel Duncan opens the door to her parents’ mansion, Sarah says: “Hey. Can I use your pool?”

Rachel stares at her. Her face is, as always, flat and sort of furious. Her hair is in its same immaculate bob and she’s dressed to the nines in some tight silver dress; the only difference is that she’s not wearing makeup. Otherwise she looks exactly the same as she does all school year.

“Excuse me,” she says. Her voice is flat. Sort of furious. Her eyes go to the black tie of Sarah’s bikini, where it’s bared by her tank top, and then back to Sarah’s eyes.

“It’s fifty bloody degrees,” Sarah says. “I know you’ve got a pool. Can I use it.”

“No,” Rachel says, and closes the door in Sarah’s face.

So Sarah goes around back and scales the fence.

The Duncans’ pool is enormous and an unreal clear blue. It’s surrounded by creamy stone, long cushioned deck chairs, a bloody  _bar_. It’s absolutely ridiculous, and also absolutely empty. Sarah sheds her tank top, unzips her shorts and dumps them, and dives in.

God, it feels good. She opens her eyes and takes in the crystalline depths of the water, watches bubbles plume out from her nose, and then surfaces. It’s the first time in weeks that she hasn’t felt like she’s drowning in her own sweat. Sarah rests on her back, paddles a bit, watches the hot blue arc of the sky. No clouds. She closes her eyes, drifts.

“What are you  _doing_ ,” Rachel says.

Sarah jerks awake, splashes frantically like an idiot; she surfaces and coughs water out of her nose. Rachel is standing, framed in the sliding glass doorway of her house, eyes wide. 

“You weren’t using it,” Sarah says.

“This is trespassing,” Rachel says. She keeps blinking, like if she blinks enough Sarah will vanish.

“What d’you think I’m gonna do,” Sarah says. “Steal it?”

“I’m calling the police,” Rachel says, and turns on her heel (her  _literal heel_ , because she’s the sort of teenager who needs to wear stilettos around her  _own house_ in the  _summer_ ) to march back inside.

“Yeah right,” Sarah calls after her.

Rachel doesn’t answer.

“Rachel?”

Nothing.

“ _Shit_ ,” Sarah hisses, and splashes out of the pool. She goes charging inside. “I’m out,” she yells, “I’m leaving, I promise, Rachel where the hell–”

Rachel is in some enormous room that probably has its own fancy name in French. She’s dialing an old-fashioned telephone. Her finger is frozen on the dial. She’s holding the receiver in the other hand. They stare at each other for a second.

“You’re  _dripping on the marble_ ,” Rachel says.

“Please don’t call the cops,” Sarah says. “I just wanted to stop melting for two  _bloody_  seconds, alright? I’m gonna get my shit and go. Put the phone down. Just – put the phone down, yeah?”

Rachel’s eyes narrow. “Get your clothes,” she says. She doesn’t put down the phone.

“Christ,” Sarah mutters. She makes her wet, squeaking way back out to the pool, tugs on her clothes, slips on her flip-flops, goes back inside. “Happy?” she says to Rachel.

“Out,” Rachel says.

Sarah gets out.

* * *

Rachel really seemed like she was going to call the cops. That threat looms over Sarah, real and sharp, and for a week it’s enough to keep her from going back.

Then that week passes, and it’s still a million degrees, and she scales the fence again. Really it’s the Duncans’ fault for having such a fancy fence. If it didn’t have all those pointless curlicues Sarah wouldn’t be able to climb it.

But it does, and she is, and she  _groans_  when she dives back into the water. Rachel Duncan is going to send her to jail, and it’s absolutely going to be worth it. Jail probably has air conditioning. Even if it doesn’t, she’ll still have the memory: the endless blue depths of the water, the cold touch of it on her skin, the coaster whizzing past her into the–

Wait.

Sarah surfaces. Rachel is armed with a handful of coasters; when Sarah comes up she pauses in throwing the next one.

“Get  _out_ ,” she hisses, “of my  _pool_.”

“Don’t you ever leave your bloody house?!” Sarah says.

“I don’t understand what about my previous threat wasn’t clear,” Rachel says. Her eyes are bright and hot and furious. “You have five seconds before I telephone the police. Five–”

“Rachel.”

“Four–”

“Come  _on_.”

“ _Three_ –”

“You could just get in with me! It’s a big pool, yeah?”

Rachel stops the countdown. She presses fingertips to her temples in the gesture of a seventy-year-old librarian. The dress she’s wearing today is white, but it’s still tight as sin. She must be melting.

“Rachel,” Sarah says coaxingly. “Have a heart.”

Rachel’s eyes snap open. “Your time is up,” she says, and goes back inside.

So Sarah has to pull herself out of the pool again, thrash her way into her clothes, follow Rachel inside. She hadn’t noticed the first time, but the air conditioning is on full blast in here; it’s arctic. So Rachel must be  _freezing_ , not melting, only she doesn’t seem to be either of the two. Just pissed.

Sarah dances around her, gets between Rachel and the telephone. “Do I have to  _pay_  you?” she says. “’cause one of us needs the money and it’s not you, princess.”

“I don’t want you in my pool,” Rachel says, each syllable crisp and distinct. “I don’t want you in my house. I don’t want to remember your existence. Go  _away_ , Sarah.”

“Please,” Sarah says. “Just give me half an hour. You won’t even know I’m there.”

“Get out, Sarah,” Rachel says. She sounds exhausted. Sarah curses under her breath, quietly, and gets.

* * *

The next time is only four days later, but that’s because Tony Sawicki throws an absolute rager on Saturday night and Sarah is trashed and sweating her way home and thinks:  _fuck it_.

At night the Duncans’ pool is gorgeous, lit by underwater lamps in soft halos, and it’s just the right level of cool. Sarah soaks her bra and panties through and doesn’t even care; she just swims laps, slowly and clumsily, the bourbon burning warm in her stomach.

“You worthless ape,” rasps Rachel’s voice.

Sarah stops swimming, realizes abruptly that switching from horizontal to vertical was a bad plan. “ _Rachel_ ,” she says. “Like your jammies.”

“You absolute barbarian,” Rachel says, tugging her silk (silk?!) robe tighter around herself and tucking a chunk of unstraightened hair behind her ear. “You buffoon. You clumsy, irrelevant–”

Sarah vaults out of the pool, steps towards Rachel’s house. Rachel plants her hands on the doorframe on either side of her. “My parents are asleep,” she hisses. “Don’t you dare–”

Sarah grabs her around the middle, tugs Rachel backwards, and lets both of them fall into the pool.

Ker- _ploosh_.

Rachel makes a high thin sound that she manages to smother, and then she’s under. And  _then_  she jabs Sarah with two bony elbows and a heel to the knee and she’s free, swimming across the pool.

Sarah catches her. Rachel elbows her way free again. The process repeats itself a few times and then Sarah has to fall backwards onto her back, floating in the water, laughing so hard she thinks she’s going to puke. 

Rachel pulls herself out of the pool. She looks like a drowned cat, pathetic and furious. She ditches the robe and makes a beeline for the bar, but not before Sarah can see that the thin white pajama set Rachel is wearing underneath the robe is soaked completely through. So. It’s transparent, that’s what that means.

Sarah stops laughing. She treads water in complete silence. She watches Rachel grab a towel and bundle herself up on one of the deck chairs.

“I hope you realize I’m going to sue,” Rachel says. Her icicle voice and dagger gaze are ruined by the fact that she’s shivering, wrapped in a towel, and just really funny-looking. Her bare toes stick out from her towel burrito.

“Uh,” Sarah says. Not her finest.

“I am sick of this,” Rachel says. “I am  _tired_  of you, Sarah Manning. I’m going to ruin your life. The thought doesn’t even excite me. It’s just that it’s the only way I can imagine making you stop.”

Nothing is funny anymore.

Sarah pulls herself out of the pool, sits on the edge, immediately starts shivering so hard her teeth clack together. “Please don’t,” she says. “I –  _shite_ , can I get a towel.”

Rachel exhales through her nose, rolls her eyes, goes to the bar to get a towel and throw it at Sarah’s head. She misses. Sarah crawls across the deck to get the towel, wrap herself up in it. 

“Wasn’t thinking,” she mutters. “I don’t – I don’t really think about shit.”

“I gathered.”

Sarah flips her off, then realizes she’s lost the plot and scrambles to remember what she was talking about. “I  _just_  don’t want to die of bloody heatstroke,” she says. “And, Christ, maybe I want you to lighten up a bit, yeah? That’s it. Promise.”

Rachel doesn’t say anything. When Sarah looks at her Rachel is looking past the pool, into the dark. Her face is incomprehensible – lit by the moonlight and the soft underwater lights from the pool. She has freckles on her nose, her cheeks, the bit of shoulder that’s bared by the towel. Sarah looks away again.

“Fine,” Rachel says.

“What?!”

“ _Fine_ ,” Rachel says again, like she’s spitting it between her teeth. “Warn me when you’re coming. I’d prefer it if my parents never knew you were here.”

“How,” Sarah says. “Smoke signals?”

Rachel stands up, bundles further into her towel, goes inside. Sarah follows her. Christ, these are good towels; they’re huge and ridiculously plush. S has been making her use the same towel since she was, like, twelve.

Rachel writes digits on a pad of paper by her stupid pretentious telephone, rips off the paper, puts it in Sarah’s hand. Her fingers brush against Sarah’s fingers, soft and cold. “Now get out,” she says.

Sarah crumples up the phone number in her hand and goes back out, puts on her clothes, scales that fucking fence again. She thinks about Rachel when she goes – Rachel standing by the telephone table, watching Sarah’s shape retreat, unmoving. Her hair dripping onto the marble. Waiting for the shivering to stop.

* * *

_can i use your pool_

_Ill leave the gate unlocked._

* * *

It turns out the pool gets boring after maybe twenty minutes of swimming in it without Rachel charging out to call her names or throw something at Sarah’s head. Sarah floats on her back, feels her fingers starting to prune, pulls herself out and lies on her back on one of the chairs. The air is very quiet; the neighborhoods of the rich are weirdly empty of sound. It’s just the faint sound of pool water and distant birds.

Sarah pulls out her phone.

 _so_ she says.  _you never use your pool or what_

_I use it._

_ive broken in four bloody times and you havent been using it_

_One of those times was 2am.  
U have the pool. Enjoy it for 40 minutes._

_you set a time limit huh  
harsh_

_Yes._

_so when do you use it_

_rachel_

_are you ignoring me_

She totally is. Sarah drops her phone, squeezes out the dripping mass of her hair, goes to let herself into the house and track Rachel down.

The sliding glass door is locked. Sarah tugs on the handle a few times, throws up her hands, dials Rachel’s number.

Voicemail.

“Did you lock me out of your house?!” Sarah says into the phone. “What the hell do you think I’m gonna steal?” 

She hangs up. “ _Fuck_ ,” she mutters. She wanders around the pool a few times; her hair is already beginning to dry in the heat, but she doesn’t want to go back in. Her phone stays silent. She makes a face at the house, shoves her phone back in the pocket of her shorts, and lets herself out of the back gate.

* * *

_hey_

_Unlock?_

_yeah_

* * *

_hey_

_Its unlocked._

_cheers_

* * *

_guess what_

_I can guess._

_youre psychic  
_ _and savin my life ill be there in ten_

* * *

When Sarah finishes climbing over the fence and lands with a thud in Rachel’s backyard, Rachel blinks – checks her phone – blinks at Sarah again. “There was,” she says, “ _one_  rule. One single condition.” She keeps talking about rules and regulations, closing her book, sitting up on her lounge chair. In her white one-piece swimsuit her legs are as long as an airport runway. They’re also a little freckled. Fuck. Sarah looks back at Rachel’s face just in time to catch “–you don’t have the energy to send a three-character text message–”

“Don’t you ever get lonely?” Sarah says.

Rachel stops talking.

“It’s just you,” Sarah says, “in this house. All day, yeah? I’d get lonely.” Before Rachel can say anything Sarah peels off her tank top, steps out of her flip flops and shorts. “Just keep reading,” she says, and slips like a knife blade into the water.

Surprisingly, Rachel does. She just keeps reading. Sarah pops her head up above the water every now and then to find Rachel a few pages deeper into her book – something in French – and completely still. Sometimes her eyes aren’t on the book, and when Sarah meets Rachel’s gaze one or both of them looks away.

Eventually, Sarah pulls herself out of the water. She lies, dripping, on the sun-warmed stone. She feels like a lizard.

“You’re going to burn,” Rachel says.

“Yeah,” Sarah says without opening her eyes.

“Put on sunscreen.”

Sarah slits her eyes open, tilts her head to the side, watches Rachel. “You offering?”

Rachel reaches around her deck chair, picks up a bottle of sunscreen, puts it deliberately at the foot of her chair before she picks up her book again. Sarah gets distracted by the endless refolding of Rachel’s legs as she settles, and then she shakes her head a little bit and takes the chair next to Rachel’s.

“What’re you reading,” Sarah says, slathering sunscreen on her legs.

Rachel says the name. It’s still in French.

“You speak French?”

“No,” Rachel says. 

Sarah looks at Rachel. Rachel is smirking down at her book. Sarah looks away again. “Piss  _off_ ,” she says. “Just a bloody question. Thought the school only offered German and Spanish.”

“It’s a hobby.”

Sarah’s hobby is breaking into Rachel’s pool, so she doesn’t have anything to add to that. Instead she pulls her hair over one shoulder, twists around, says: “Get my back?”

Rachel lets out a breath through her nose, long and slow. After a moment her palms touch shock-cold sunscreen to Sarah’s back and rub it in. Neither of them say anything, until Rachel says: “There.” Her voice is very soft.

Sarah clears her throat, roughly. “Thanks.”

“Yes,” Rachel says in a weird lurch of a syllable. She settles back down. Sarah hears pages turn; she lies down on her stomach on the chair, listens to the sound of Rachel’s breathing and the water and all the birds.

When she wakes up, Rachel is gone. There’s a towel draped over Sarah’s back so she doesn’t burn.

* * *

Rachel’s actually in the pool, this time, rippling from end to end like an eel on fast-forward. She doesn’t notice Sarah climb over the fence, doesn’t notice when Sarah sits down by the pool; it’s only when Sarah shucks her shoes and slides her feet into the water that Rachel slows and surfaces. She folds her arms over the edge. “Oh,” she says, sounding slightly breathless. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” Sarah says. “Miss me?”

Rachel’s grip on the edge loosens, for a second, and she thrashes to keep her grip. “I live my life in a constant state of paranoia,” she says. “I never know if or when you’ll come heaving yourself over that fence.”

“You  _did_ ,” Sarah says. “You missed me.”

“Yes,” Rachel says. “I missed our many scintillating conversations. Like this one.”

Sarah kicks water at her. Rachel splutters and blinks at Sarah with a completely blank expression.

“Christ,” Sarah says. “Did I rust up your gears?”

Rachel stares at her for another blink or two and then – out of absolutely nowhere – pulls Sarah into the water.

It’s fair play, the revenge, except this time both of their eyes are open and Rachel is very close to Sarah in the water and her arms are wrapped around Sarah’s middle, tight and strong. Bubbles plume from both of them, twining up and reaching the surface. Rachel’s eyes are very wide; Sarah can see the flecks in her irises, the small shape of Sarah reflected in Rachel’s pupil.

Then Rachel lets Sarah go.

Rachel kicks her way back up to the surface; after a second Sarah follows her. She pulls herself out and ditches the waterlogged ruin of her tank and shorts. “You absolute bitch,” she says. “You’re so  _lucky_  I didn’t have my phone.”

“Mm,” Rachel says lazily. She’s floating on her back in the water, arms folded over her stomach like she’s a senior citizen taking a relaxing nap.

So Sarah cannonballs.

* * *

“Come on,” Sarah says, clutching onto the edge of the pool and wheezing for breath, “go again, you’re cheating somehow.”

“Am I cheating?” Rachel says, swimming around the pool like a particularly smug otter. “Or do you swim like a drowning gorilla?”

Sarah flips her off.

“A compelling argument. I’ve changed my mind, your swimming is excellent.”

“We’re going again.”

“Fine,” Rachel says. She swims over to touch the wall next to Sarah. “On my mark–”

* * *

_dont ever drink. this hangover is going to murder me  
tell your pool i love it_

_Ive been drinking since age 13. Sorry._

_what  
how_

_My parents._

_of bloody course_

* * *

“It is a type of location of bodies in space, of – placement – of individuals in relation to one another, of hierarchical organization, of–”

“Stop,” Sarah says. “Stop. Changed my mind.” She swims over to the edge of the pool; Rachel looks up from the book, raises her eyebrows. She’s freckled all over, now. So is Sarah. “That’s the most boring bloody thing I’ve ever heard. Stop translating it.”

“ _You_  wanted to hear it,” Rachel says. She sounds amused.

“You should’ve lied!”

“Ah,” Rachel says. “Of course. My mistake.” She clears her throat, makes a great show of looking back down to the book. “The guitarist got on stage. He was drunk. The band was also drunk. The crowd – shockingly – appeared to be completely intoxicated–”

Sarah ducks back under the water; Rachel’s voice follows her down.

* * *

"Christ, this place is nice.”

Rachel looks over her shoulder absentmindedly. “Oh,” she says. “Yes.” She passes through the room without looking – this must all be familiar to her, the paintings and the couches with their throws and the enormous television. She pads into the next room, and Sarah follows. If Rachel leaves her behind in here Sarah will never make it out; she’ll be doomed to wander these stupid and pretentious halls forever.

Eventually: the kitchen. Two refrigerators. Rachel grabs an apple out of a fruit bowl on the counter, gestures vaguely around. “Help yourself,” she says. She sits on a stool at her kitchen island. When she leans against the counter to start eating her apple, her one-piece bares the shadowed curve of her breasts; Sarah turns towards a refrigerator. Opens it. It’s stuffed to bursting with all sorts of shit she doesn’t even recognize.

“ _Shit_.”

Behind her: the crunch of teeth into apple. Sarah picks a half-eaten cake at random, cuts off a slice, grabs a plate and settles next to Rachel on the next stool down. She bumps Rachel’s shoulder with her own as she sits.

“You eat like a wolverine,” Rachel says, as Sarah digs in.

“You’re gonna get through the whole zoo at this rate,” Sarah says. After she swallows her mouthful of cake.

“Not by the end of the summer.”

Sarah stops eating. “Oh,” she says. “Yeah. Shite. That’s – what. Three weeks?”

“Yes.”

“Wow.”

“Time flies.”

 _Can I still come over_ , Sarah wants to say, only that would be admitting that they’re hanging out – that they want to see each other, that they’re doing this on purpose. She can’t shake the feeling that if she does that Rachel will lock all of her doors and run deep into the house where Sarah can’t find her. It’s fragile. Whatever this is, it’s fragile.

“Sure does,” she says. She cleans up the rest of the cake, licks frosting off her fork. Feels Rachel looking at her. Wants to – but she doesn’t, because this is fragile. If she looks at Rachel she’ll touch her and that’ll be a shitty thing to do. Rachel’s hair, dried weird in the sun, a hank of it tucked behind her ear; Rachel’s sun-brown shoulders, Rachel’s bitten lips. Her skin soaked with chlorine. Sarah won’t.

“Hey,” she says, sliding off the stool, “can I see the rest of your house?” She wanders out of the kitchen before Rachel can tell her  _yes_  or  _no_.

* * *

Rachel falls asleep on her deck chair. Sarah pulls herself out of the pool, wobbles over, stands there and watches. For too long, probably.

When Sarah’s shadow falls over Rachel, Rachel’s eyes flutter open. She says Sarah’s name.

* * *

They paint each other’s toenails. They probably could have each done their own, but Sarah wouldn’t tell Rachel that; Rachel’s foot is in her lap and Sarah is pulling the brush over Rachel’s big toe, painting the nail black. The skin is warm. Sarah’s skin is warm. The sunlight is seeping into her bones, and Rachel sighs through her nose and opens her mouth and doesn’t say anything.

* * *

_why ddont you ever come to parties???????_

_I dont like teenagers._

_YOUR a teenager  
and you like ME_

_I make exceptions._

_YOU LIKE ME  
i lik you_

_Are you drunk._

_yeah_  
_a ltitle bit_  
 _i like you_  
 _RACHEL_

_Thanks._

_AND  
im coming ov_

_Dont. Go to bed._

_too late!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
bbeths house i near YOUR house ha_

_U r insufferable._

_:)_

* * *

The gate opens when Sarah fumbles at it and then she’s in Rachel’s backyard and Rachel is sitting on one of the chairs, wrapped in a towel again. Sarah really likes her. She wants to count Rachel’s freckles with her tongue.

“Hey,” she says, collapsing down in the lounge chair next to Rachel. “Hey! Rachel, hey.”

“Hello, Sarah.”

Sarah leans her head on Rachel’s shoulder. She snuggles into the plush towel that Rachel has wrapped around herself like a makeshift blanket. “My, my,” Rachel says. “You weren’t this affectionate last time.”

“I didn’t know,” Sarah slurs. “Last time.”

“You didn’t know.”

“That I  _like_  you.”

Rachel doesn’t say anything. “I really like you,” Sarah murmurs. “Rachel. You’re a bitch and you’re funny and you’re so bloody hot. It’s – you’re. Mm.”

Rachel is getting stiff, which isn’t what Sarah wanted. She leans further into the Rachel-bundle, wriggles a little bit, presses her mouth to Rachel’s jawline.

Rachel jerks away, stands up. “Go home,” she says. She drops the towel and walks back towards her house, arms folded around herself, shivering a little in the cold. It’s getting closer to fall. It’s getting cold. “Go home,” Rachel says again.

“Rachel,” Sarah says.

“Leave,” Rachel says, and goes back inside.

* * *

Sarah wakes up late the next morning, the light dribbling in through a crack in the curtains. Did she imagine it? The urgent speed of Rachel’s pulse under Sarah’s mouth, the way it had come close and closer to her lips. Did she make it up?

She rolls over, shoves her pillow over her head like she can block out the hangover that way. Did she make it up?

* * *

She keeps wondering that as she makes the walk to Rachel’s house. It’s actually a hell of a walk; she’s built up muscle over the summer, trekking over, swimming in Rachel’s pool almost every single day. She’s gotten color in the sun. She’s made a friend, or something different and more complex than a friend.

She steps onto Rachel’s front porch. Rings the doorbell. Listens to it chime and echo through the enormous empty house.

Nothing.

She rings it again: nothing.

A third time.

After the fourth time, the door opens. Rachel is so close that Sarah can see the flecks in her irises again. She swallows. “Hey,” she croaks.

Rachel doesn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry,” Sarah says. “I didn’t – I didn’t mean to screw it up.”

Rachel looks away; her eyelashes flutter as she blinks. Her fingers twitch on the doorframe. Sarah shoves both hands through her hair, says: “I’ll go away. If you want me to. I just–” she sucks in a breath. “I wasn’t using you for the pool, alright? I like – I liked. I liked you. So.” She shuffles her feet. “Yeah,” she says, and goes to step off the porch, and Rachel steps outside and grabs Sarah’s face and kisses her.

Her grip is urgent; her hands are claws. Sarah makes a deep urgent sound and kisses back, steps forward, steps closer, stumbles the two of them inside, they’re inside, Rachel is kissing Sarah. Sarah is kissing Rachel back. There is so much tongue and if Rachel stops kissing her Sarah will die. She’ll die. 

One of them manages to get the door closed and Sarah pins Rachel against it, puts her hands against the curve of Rachel’s ribs. The smooth-slick fabric of Rachel’s swimsuit presses against Sarah’s hands as Rachel sucks in breaths, keeps kissing Sarah and touching her and kissing her and. 

After a minute or six minutes or an hour, Rachel leans back. Sarah follows her; she keeps pressing her mouth to Rachel’s mouth, soft little kisses that she can’t stop. Rachel lets out a helpless little breath of a laugh. “Sarah,” she says.

Sarah leans forward so her forehead is against Rachel’s. “Yeah,” she says.

“I don’t know,” Rachel says. She hooks her thumbs into the belt loops of Sarah’s shorts. “I wanted to say it.”

“Rachel,” Sarah says, and Rachel kisses her again. Then she stops.

“Rachel,” Sarah says again, and Rachel smiles. “Hey,” Sarah says. “I’m serious this time.”

“Sarah,” Rachel says. “What is it.”

“There’s still two weeks of summer left.”

“Time flies,” Rachel says, and pulls Sarah close again.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell the neighbors I'm not sorry  
> If I'm breaking walls down  
> Building your girl's second story  
> Ripping all your floors out  
> \--"Girls Like Girls," Hayley Kiyoko
> 
> It was a TRIAL to not put in more GLG references in here. I did my best.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please kudos + comment if you enjoyed! :)


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